Edward Masen tugged at the collar of his dress blues. Trembling fingers fidgeted and fussed, pulling the hem of his sleeve down over the stark white glove, adjusting the smooth white belt. It seemed to take forever to get it just so. Ever the U.S. Marine, Masen stood tall and adjusted his cover.

This was his first “mission” since he’d set foot on American soil, and while his presence had only been summoned in hopes that people would open their hearts and their pocketbooks, ensuring that children who were less fortunate had gifts to open on Christmas morning, held as much importance as any objective on the battlefield.

It had been so long since he’d donned the uniform that signified his service to country. Hell, it had been a long time since he’d worn any sort of formal dress and the retired Staff Sergeant felt woefully out of his element.

Retired.

He scoffed when glanced at the reflection in the mirror. That was what they’d called it when they shipped him home in a wheelchair, the other members of his unit in caskets.

Permanent Disability—Retired.

It mattered not that he could take down a target at five-hundred yards, nor that he had been fully rehabilitated and was more physically fit than he’d been during his years of active service. Once the Physical Evaluation Board made their decision, a service man’s fate was cast in stone. The VA Schedule for Rating Disabilities didn’t make any exceptions in the absence of one’s foot or any part thereof. Make it nearly an entire leg, you were pretty much fucked.

Oh, and did you know it’s not only our vets who can suffer PTSD?

Standing at attention, just to the left of Santa’s Candy Cane Cottage, was a U. S. Marine; his back ramrod straight, his dress blues immaculate. Her eyes took in the broad shoulders and narrow waist, the hint of dark hair at the edge of his cover, and if she allowed herself to believe in miracles, it could have been her beloved husband, returned from the dead.

Bella drew in a steadying breath and dared another peek, just as her apparition squatted and reached for the small knapsack a dark haired toddler held up with a smile.

The scene had haunted her a million times in her sleep—the child, begging for food, holding out his small knapsack for her husband to fill with an apple or sandwich; imagined Emmett’s easy smile as he offered the tot whatever he had. It was the Devil himself who strapped a bomb on the poor baby used as the instrument of her husband’s death and she was certain history was about to repeat itself.

Without hesitation she sprung into action. Shoving the children under a table set up as a gift wrapping station, she began screaming and crying, “Everyone get away. It’s a bomb!”

It might take our Marineward time and patience to break through her tough shell but he does and it’s amazin’ to see!

Grief affects everyone differently. Some flounder. Some ignore it all together. Some Just move on and go through the motions. But some remain stagnant, trapped in their grief, allowing it to consume them completely. Epov. Olderward. AH

Edward Cullen, honorably discharged Marine, has a new neighbor. Little does he know how much she’s about to change his life…for the better!

Sometime in the night, I was jolted awake, my pillow wet from tears. Memories of loud noises, people yelling and screaming, a gun being loaded and fired infiltrated my dreams.

I didn’t fall asleep again. My eyes wouldn’t shut, no matter how hard I tried. My mind was too occupied. Instead, I got up and forced myself to start the day.

Leaving my house that morning, I was met with basket and a hot thermos of coffee with a card attached, waiting for me on my front porch. I looked around, trying to find who left it, but I was the only one out.

I opened the card, and found blue paper with purple ink staring back at me.

Sir-

I hope you don’t mind this, but they say that some warm tea can do wonders for a tired soul. Chocolate, even better.

I think you could use some. Please enjoy this tea, the chocolate muffins and some fruit. I hope they bring you a smile.

I heard you last night. Your tears tore at my heart, your screams and yelling made me want to run to you. But since we don’t know each other, maybe this will help you to at least get through your day.

My door is always open.

Bella.

I stared down at her note, not at all sure what to think. It was the first time in a very long time that someone did something for me. I felt embarrassed that she had heard me; I hadn’t even realized I still screamed in my sleep.

I tore a bit of paper off her note, and replied back, leaving it on her door.

Bella-

Thank you.

Edward.

Edward and Bella have both been havin’ a rough time dealin’ with their losses but, together, they’re beatin’ back the darkness! Watchin’ ’em do it is very upliftin’!

Bella and Edward grew up together. They’ve shared a lot of firsts, but never the ones of the intimate sort, both always fearing it would ruin the relationship they had. Now as highly-sought-after, successful adults, neither can take it anymore. One phone call gives them the opening they need, but it’ll be easier than they think. Tattella/Tattward; M for Language & Adult Activities

Edward {not a Marineward *poutyface*} agrees to a photoshoot to promote his custom paint and body shop…with unforeseen consequences!

“Take care. Bye!” Mary ends the call, clasps her hands in front of her on the desk, and then looks at me. Her poker face is fucking perfect. Bitch.

“Well? Are you gonna tell me or am I gonna have to threaten your Milton-like stapler?” I say with frustration as I reach over and pick up her red stapler, holding it up by my face.

She laughs, “If we weren’t friends, you’d be in trouble for that little outburst. But, yes, I’ll tell you, so relax, stapler hater. He sounded a little surprised, so I said what I needed to, but it wasn’t needed. He said it wasn’t a problem, but actually great.” I smile and nod, satisfied with that answer.

“Now,” she makes a shooing motion, “go away. I have a few other calls to make for Irina, and I may have to do some begging. Alistair really fucked things up the last time we had to work with these clients.”

I chuckle as I stand and turn to leave, smirk on my face. In six days, the highly-sought-after, custom auto body detailing man will be mine, and this issue will officially confirm it to the world. Finally, Operation: Edward’s Mine is a go.

I guess it wouldn’t be so much fun watchin’ ’em figure it out if Bella already knew Edward was on the same page!

I’ve been in love with Bella for what feels like our entire lives. She’s everything I want and need, and as a tattooed and pierced pole fitness instructor and model, she fits perfectly in my world.

It’s only one o’clock, but I have this paint job to start. Thankfully, I have a couple of extra days for this one, so I can stretch my process a little. I gather my thoughts while I look over the car’s plans, trying to ignore the more erotic ones of Bella and I having naked fun on every surface imaginable.

I would prefer the latter, and it’s so hard to push away.

Ha!

I groan again and shake my head at myself. I’m incorrigible.

“All right,” I sigh to myself, and then try hard to focus on my work.

After a few minutes, I’m walking back to my spray gun, determined to finish the day’s schedule before planning Operation Make Bella Mine.

Edward Cullen has abstained from human blood for over a century. Present-day Chicago, he uses his gift of telepathy to solve crimes, during an investigation he hears a madman planning to murder an innocent young woman. While intervening on her behalf, Edward loses his superior control, becoming fixated on the song of her sweet blood crying out to him. Will he answer?

Bonus Vampward to make up for missin’ the last two Fridays!

The young woman attempted to hail a taxi without success. I cursed to myself when I saw she was setting out to walk, playing straight into the abhorrent hands of the killer. His confidence sickened me, he was sure she would be worth the trouble she’d cause him. My reaction to his detestable imaginings was . . . not on my watch!

Catching offenders after they have already committed a crime is an accomplishment, but it’s even more rewarding when I stop them from repeating it. If I have any say in the matter, this sicko’s games are about to end. I will not allow this crime to happen. This innocent woman’s life will not end at the hand of this murderer.

I will intervene on her behalf.

I wrapped myself around her and leaped to a nearby rooftop to a position where I could evaluate my surroundings. Landing in an abandoned alley, I held her back against my chest, unwilling for her to see the horror of what was about to take place. She smelled so unbelievably good I wanted to devour her, but her unexpected warmth seeped through to me, momentarily usurping thirst with intense physical desire. While my hand was over her mouth to keep her from screaming, she twisted and turned trying to loosen my hold, which only incensed me further. With my arm wedged between her breasts, it made me even more conscious of her soft curves.

What I wouldn’t give to see this beauty without clothes!

I am shocked by my own lasciviousness, not normally prone to such thoughts. In retrospect, I was foolish not to acknowledge this woman was awakening long-buried human emotions in me. . . emotions so foreign that I am thrown off guard.

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